


turn to dust all that I adore

by solacefruit



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Beta Read, Gen, some names and appearances tinkered with because i like it better that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-09-30 12:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solacefruit/pseuds/solacefruit
Summary: “Things will always change,” said Tallstar. He had stopped purring. “Our world is huge and mutable. One season to the next, one leader to the next, one life to the next. Change isn’t something to be frightened of.” The breeze gently ruffled his fur. “A prudent cat has reverence for that. I can’t say if Starclan plans our paths or if we just stumble upon them, but I would rather follow what my heart calls for than stay where I’m put out of fear of change. Even if what I find is a badger sett and no butterfly to show for it,” he added, his amber eyes smiling. “What about you?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _ do you understand _   
_ that we will never be the same again? _   
_ the future's in our hands _   
_ and we will never be the same again _

_The dawn patrol will need organising soon_, thought Mudclaw as he looked out over the moor. Already, the far edges of the sky were tinging with the first light of day—but it could wait for a little while longer. 

Right now, Tallstar walked beside him, elegant and unhurried as always, pausing occasionally to sniff at the heather and other spires of heath flowers. The breeze—warm and soft and smelling of stone, blown in from over the Mothermouth—ruffled their fur and caused the nearby tufts of bristle bent to shiver prettily. 

“We are most fortunate of all the clans, I’ve always thought,” said Tallstar into the quiet. He inclined his long nose at the nearest clump of grass that shadowed over them. It was several moons too early for their flowers; the bare stalks trembled against the sky. “Thunderclan can say what they like about their trees, but _I _say there is nothing more beautiful than this.”

“Of course,” said Mudclaw. 

He watched Tallstar close his eyes, breathing in the scent of the moor with evident pleasure. The little moonlight left glowed on the white of his fur, pristine as new snow. In the deep black of his pelt, the few grey hairs glinted like streaking stars.

“A little more prey in the forest, maybe,” conceded Tallstar, opening his eyes once more and walking ahead. 

“We’ll manage,” said Mudclaw at once. “We always have.”

Tallstar cast him a warm glance, his amber eyes bright and clear. “I’m sure we will. I don’t think you’d let it be any other way.”

Mudclaw basked in the praise, feeling its sunlight all the way into his bones. 

“I’m only doing what any deputy worthy of serving Windclan would do,” he replied with studied casualness, doing what he could to stop his tail from rising too high, his chest from puffing out too much. “Our clan has a lot to recover from,” he added, the thought distracting him from pride for a moment. “Hard work is needed now more than ever.”

Tallstar sighed. “That is regrettably true.” He glanced out over the moor. 

Mudclaw, somewhat unwillingly, looked away from his leader and followed his gaze. It was too easy to remember the streaks of blood and fur strewn across the heath, but not the fear. Mudclaw had spat that out long ago, too full of fury to feel anything else. His hatred of Shadowclan was pure and true, a righteous burn even now, but his love of Windclan was even greater: bright and hot like the sun. Windclan may have been chased out by Shadowclan--but they had not gone quietly. 

“We_ will _recover,” he reassured Tallstar, who seemed preoccupied in thought. “I believe in—” _you_, thought Mudclaw. “—our clan,” he said.

The hesitation was so slight, Mudclaw doubted Tallstar noticed at all. He simply nodded. 

“Things have been difficult before,” agreed Tallstar. “Things will be difficult again. But Windclan always survives. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes!” said Mudclaw, tail high. 

Together, they padded up one of the few small swells of hill in their territory and sat at the crest in companionable silence. It had been a tradition to take a walk together ever since Mudclaw had become deputy, although the habit itself had started a little before then. When he was newly made deputy, the walks were practical in their purpose: a private time of instruction or advice, with little tests of memory thrown in here and there. 

But Tallstar’s lessons eventually lessened and made space for real conversation. Tallstar began to share his thoughts and trust Mudclaw with his concerns, and even asked now and then for his opinions on the problems the clan was facing—of which there always seemed to be many. 

Some evenings, when Windclan was thriving and the omens were good, there would be nothing important to discuss but still the two of them would walk together each night before the dawn came, admiring the beauty of the territory their ancestors had bled upon for generations. Sometimes they would talk of idle gossip, or they would banter—which Mudclaw, less able in Windclan’s airier skills than his leader, would stumble through anyway, hoping to coax a purr from Tallstar or an amused twitch of his whiskers. Occasionally, they would hardly speak at all and instead listened to the sounds of their world on the heath. 

These were Mudclaw’s favourite times. No matter how tired he was after a night of hunting and training and patrolling, he would never miss a walk with Tallstar. 

He glanced at Tallstar now, following with his eyes the sharp angles of his large ears and the long curve of his neck. 

“You reminded me before,” said Mudclaw, after glancing away again, “of that poem, _the hymn of gorse to wind_. How does it go?”

Mudclaw didn’t have the memory that Tallstar did for the hymns and poems of Windclan, although he often practiced when alone on sentry duty. He lacked the talent of the great poets, though, and so usually remembered the moral but not the individual words. It was, however, something he greatly admired in certain others. 

Tallstar made a pleasant sound of surprise. “Do you know, it’s been a long time since I’ve thought of it. Let’s see if I can remember.” He was quiet for a moment, then recited,

“_I stand not like a tree or stone: I waver like a fern_  
_and when the breeze doth move me, that be the way I turn._  
_ Yet I trust in every breath of it and along its path I bend,_  
_ for the wind may change me every day, but never bring my end._”

His voice was sharp and distinct but flowing and rich, some unnameable quality that made Mudclaw think of storms: all the softness of clouds and all the weight of thunder. It was the kind of voice, he’d always thought, that was _made_ for leadership: both commanding and calming all at once no matter how quietly or sternly he spoke. 

Mudclaw had never got the hang of it. His clanmates listened when he called for hush and attention, of course, but he was not a naturally gifted speaker and although no-one ever mentioned it, he was aware that his own voice, harsh as it was, was not one that relaxed its audience. 

But that was okay, Mudclaw decided long ago. He could not_ be _Tallstar—didn’t want to be Tallstar, either—but he could be what Tallstar needed: a hard-working deputy, dependable and loyal. He made sure everything ran as it should, made sure Tallstar’s orders were carried out efficiently and without squabbling or complaint. When new apprentices mistook Tallstar’s pleasant requests as optional suggestions, Mudclaw was there to growl a much-needed reminder of respect. When Tallstar’s voice croaked and faded, as it had begun to do from time to time during announcements, Mudclaw raised his and called for silence, glowering at anyone who so much as coughed. 

And the next time Windclan needed to battle, Mudclaw would be there, leading the way. He and Tallstar had argued this several times on their before-dawn strolls, but Mudclaw had eventually won: he would lead raids and battles and patrols. Tallstar, who was slowly growing skinnier each season, would remain at the camp. 

“That’s the one,” said Mudclaw after a moment. “One of these days I’ll learn it myself.”

He didn’t mention that he almost knew it by heart already. 

“It is a beautiful creation,” said Tallstar.

Mudclaw liked that phrase: _to know by heart_. Whenever he thought of it, it made him imagine there was a little dark space in the chest somewhere where favourite poems lived, as if some poems felt so familiar they were almost like your own organs, a part of you that you’d found in your life rather than some inner piece you’d been born with.

_The hymn of gorse to wind_ felt like that to Mudclaw. 

It was said to be ancient, a poem from the very first days of Windclan. Many believed it had been first told by Gorsestar, the second ever leader of Windclan, to Windstar—_the_ Wind herself, the founder of the clan.

She was also his love. They said he never had another: his life was for her and then, when she left for Starclan without him, his life was for her clan. 

“An elder when I was an apprentice said this hymn taught us that faith in Starclan meant that, no matter what happened, we were to trust that every step we took was part of our destined path,” continued Tallstar. “No mistakes, no doubts.”

“What did you think of that?” asked Mudclaw.

Tallstar flicked his tail tip, enjoying himself. “I’d asked if that meant Starclan had _intended_ for me to fall into a badger sett the day before, or had that been—as one warrior on the patrol put it—‘my own stupid fault for chasing butterflies instead of watching where I put my paws’.”

A flurry of happiness fluttered inside Mudclaw’s chest, so sudden it was almost painful.

“How many days of extra duties did that get you?” he asked.

“A few.” Tallstar was purring. “But he didn’t have much of an answer. I think he’d said something about it teaching me a lesson, but ever since then I preferred the other teaching of the hymn.”

Mudclaw heart gave an odd little hiccough. 

“What’s that?”

“Things will always change,” said Tallstar. He had stopped purring. “Our world is huge and mutable. One season to the next, one leader to the next, one life to the next. Change isn’t something to be frightened of.” The breeze gently ruffled his fur. “A prudent cat has reverence for that. I can’t say if Starclan plans our paths or if we just stumble upon them, but I would rather follow what my heart calls for than stay where I’m put out of fear of change. Even if what I find is a badger sett and no butterfly to show for it,” he added, his amber eyes smiling. “What about you?”

Mudclaw thought: _I’m not smart like you are, Tallstar. I’m not clever with words. But you make me wish I was a poet, so I could put my voice next to your heart the way you’ve left yours by mine._

Mudclaw thought:_ I want to make a hymn of you that will last forever, and when you go to be the pride of our ancestors above and leave me here alone to look after your clan, I can say it every day before dawn and pretend you are walking with me and nothing has changed even when everything is different. _

Mudclaw thought: _When I am leader, I will always be _your_ deputy underneath. Nothing will ever change that. I promise you’ll be proud of me._

Mudclaw said, “I’ve never thought much about it, but I like that better.”

The first light of the sun gleamed just beyond the horizon. Mudclaw and the cat he loved but who didn’t know it sat watching the colours of dawn trickling slowly into the sky. 

“I should prepare the patrol,” said Mudclaw. 

“Of course,” replied Tallstar. He was looking up at where the lingering dark of night met the soft rose tinges of day. Stars were slowly fading. “I think I will sit with our ancestors as they fall asleep. Good morning, Mudclaw.”

Mudclaw nodded. “Good morning, Tallstar.”

He padded down the slope to the stones at the base and resisted the urge to glance back. 

His mind full of golden gorse and streaks of silver stars, Mudclaw prowled home to the Windclan camp alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ we were born with nothing _   
_ and we sure as hell have nothing now. _   
_ (you said) we were born with nothing _   
_ and we sure as hell have nothing now… _

Mudclaw liked hunting alone. His body, honed by a lifetime of practice, thought with its muscles and left his mind free to float on different currents of thought, like dandelion seeds on the fresh breeze. His paws walked themselves as his mouth tasted the air for any small body cringing in the undergrowth nearby and, all the while, as if from somewhere far away in his head, his mind prayed. 

He prayed first for Tallstar. He pleaded in silence with anyone who was listening for less pain, for less uncertainty every moment of the day wondering _when_, for the long dark of Starclan’s night to come and take him to where no hurt or hunger could touch him ever again. 

Then, guiltily and even quieter, he prayed for himself. He prayed for _more_ time, for Tallstar’s eyes to become unclouded again and for his ears and whiskers and tail to stand sharp and alert again, for his voice to rumble once again instead of the sad soft rasp it had become over the journey to this new home. 

As he sniffed between ferns, Mudclaw’s mind drifted between prayers and fragments of poems, ignoring the cold lake of aching sadness that had flooded his heart for the last moon. 

On good days, Tallstar would sit up, address the cat nearest to him in a warm, friendly way as if nothing was wrong and speak a little of whatever he was thinking about. Often, it was the moors, which he spoke of only in the present tense. He thought of the colours most often, the way they would change with each season. He would talk of how the heather bloomed when the air of the moors rippled with heat and the blue butterflies would dance between the spires like chips of the sky above come to life, the entire heath all purple and green and bright blue for a moon. Or he would talk of how the snow would turn the moor to white, stark vibrant white, the plants merely bare twigs and shadows between grey stones—except the gorse, blooming profusely, defiantly gold in an almost dead world. 

_No better country_, he would say, and then fall asleep once more. 

Mudclaw knew this, because he was always listening from across the makeshift camp, trying to take in as much as he could. But he was rarely next to Tallstar in these moments, as much as he longed to be: there was still a clan to run, and grief was no excuse not to do the work that was needed. 

So he went hunting when the sun went down, and checked on his clanmates each morning, one by one, when he returned, and tried to hold together some sense of what Windclan was _meant_ to be, because someone had to. 

And for a little while each late night, just before dawn, he would sit beside Tallstar. 

Often, the leader was sleeping. His long, too-skinny body jutted out in strange ways as he lay on the dead leaves under the gorse bush, his hip a harsh point under his dull fur, his ribs curved like claws under the skin. 

Sometimes, he would stir and open his eyes and Mudclaw’s heart would leap, some irrepressible joy lighting up inside his chest just from knowing that, for even one moment, Tallstar was looking at _him_, and only him. 

“Mudclaw,” Tallstar would say, his voice frail as the rest of him, “how is my clan?”

“Stronger every day,” Mudclaw would say. _Mourning you_, he would think.

“That is good.” Tallstar’s eyes would close again, and the cold water would fill Mudclaw’s heart once more. “This is a hard time for us all.”

Mudclaw would wait with him in silence until the dawn came, serious as a sentry. Then he was needed elsewhere, to organise, to reassure. There was always work to do.

Last night had been different, though. Tallstar, eyes closed, had asked the same question as always but after Mudclaw’s reply, he’d been quiet for a time. 

Mudclaw had assumed he’d fallen asleep early and had to force himself not to startle when Tallstar spoke again.

“Every clan has suffered these moons,” he’d said, terribly soft. “I am not sure what Windclan _is_ without our moor. I am sure Thunderclan feels the same about their trees.”

Mudclaw’s fur prickled with uncertainty. 

“You did everything you could to keep us together,” said Mudclaw, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. “We might have left the moor behind, but we’ve got… each other. And our memories of home.”

Mudclaw felt out of his depth, trying to offer wisdom to Tallstar. 

“I believe in Windclan,” he said and meant it. “Do you remember what you said to me all that time ago, about not being afraid of change? Windclan is strong enough to change. We will move to our new territory soon and we will become strong again, just like we used to be.”

“Just like we used to be,” echoed Tallstar. 

“Yes,” said Mudclaw. “I promise.”

Tallstar was silent again for longer this time, but Mudclaw waited. 

“This sickness might have weakened me,” said Tallstar eventually, “but it’s a broken heart that will kill me. I am not myself without the land I grew on.”

Mudclaw insides were drenched in icy grief.

“But I hope,” he continued, slowly, “that Windclan _can_ change, as I have not been able to. We all have nothing now. But perhaps, this is a beginning, and not the end I thought it was.”

Mudclaw said nothing. 

“We have each other,” sighed Tallstar, his voice barely more than a breath. “Let that be enough.”

Before long, he was asleep again and Mudclaw, unneeded by his side, left to make his round as Windclan cats settled in the dawn sunlight after yet another long night. Mudclaw understood that exhaustion well: he suspected all his nights would be longer without Tallstar waiting at the end of them for him.

Mudclaw prowled further into the bracken, sniffing for a hint of a vole or a mouse. He had caught and covered over a sparrow already, but that was hardly enough—especially since he’d be out here all night. He’d left camp just past moon-high, but hadn’t noticed the time passing. His paws might have known where he was going, but the rest of him had been lost in his own thoughts.

_You’re late_, said his heart, with a flutter. 

Mudclaw blinked, momentarily distracted from his memories, and stopped prowling. He glanced around and then, a sense of dread sinking its teeth into him, he swung around and bounded back the way he came. 

In the unfamiliar forest of this new place, shadowed in by trees and dense bracken, Mudclaw had lost sight of the sky during his hunt. 

But now he had seen it.

It was beginning to turn blue.

* * *

Mudclaw shook earth from the sparrow he’d caught on his hunt and then threw it down into Windclan’s prey pile, wishing he hadn’t gone back for it. The horizon was lined with shining gold and the sky was much lighter than he would have liked. 

_The clan needs food_, he told himself. _You did the right thing_. _He will understand_.

All the same, Mudclaw prowled quickly from the prey pile towards Tallstar’s den, and noticed how… empty it was in the Windclan campsite. At an ordinary dawn, most cats would have been huddling down to sleep or grooming and talking softly with friends. 

This morning, there was seemingly no-one around, despite how strong and recent the scents of the clan were—and then Mudclaw passed through the thicket and saw where they had gone. 

The entirely of Windclan thronged in front of Tallstar’s den. 

Mudclaw’s heart turned cold.

Without thinking, his body moved him past every other cat, pushing easily through the press of other bodies. As if from somewhere far away, he could hear cats around him begin to wail, and a familiar but unwelcome voice speaking over the sounds of a grieving clan. 

Fresh, overwhelming waves of misery threatened to drown Mudclaw where he stood, but anger was quicker and fiercer: it burned through him as it had when Shadowclan attacked, blotting out everything else that wasn’t one long unspeakable scream of _no_.

“Tallstar is dead,” Mudclaw snarled, “and no-one told _me_?”

He glowered at the cat before him, who met his gaze steadily and held it. 

Firestar of Thunderclan, his face and body held perfectly expressionless, said, “Tallstar died only a few moments ago. There’s been no chance to tell anyone.”

Mudclaw wanted to claw his eyes out. Some part of him was roiling with revulsion that another clan—not only another cat, but another _clan_—knew of his leader’s death before he did. It was wrong. To hear of his leader’s death from the mouth of Thunderclan’s leader… that was even worse. He hissed under his breath.

“Mudclaw,” said a voice nearby. It was Webfoot, Mudclaw’s former apprentice. “We will all grieve for Tallstar, but we knew his time to walk with Starclan was near.” Mudclaw’s shoulder received a companionable bump. “Now it’s your time to guide Windclan. We need you now more than ever as we settle into our new home.”

It was a good little speech: cheerful and hopeful despite the circumstances, respectful of both past and present leaders. Mudclaw was proud of his apprentice in that moment, and gratified by the support. Several other cats, inspired by Webfoot, yowled their approval and, in that brief heartbeat of time, Mudclaw felt that things were, despite everything, going to be all right. 

He turned his attention sharply back to Firestar, and this time noticed Dustwhisker standing in his shadow, both of them together on the stump Windclan had been using for announcements.

“You should have come to find me before holding this meeting,” he growled. “This is not your clan, Firestar, and this is not Thunderclan’s news to share. You—” he noticed the other Thunderclan warrior off to the side, the big dark tabby “—and your clan have encroached on our mourning.”

There was no sign of remorse from Firestar, no evidence of apology in his stance. He merely flicked his tail tip and said, “Tallstar wanted it to be this way.” 

Mudclaw nearly snarled outright at the lie. 

“Listen to what I’m trying to tell you, please,” continued Firestar, and Mudclaw trembled with hate at the coolly disinterested way the too-young leader of Thunderclan was turning Tallstar’s death into some spectacle for his amusement, like it meant _nothing_. Tallstar should have already been surrounded by his clan, grooming his fur for the final time. Cats should have already begun to prepare hymns for his waiting spirit to listen to, performed for him by the clan’s finest speakers: the most beautiful, most true poems Windclan had to offer would be said over his body all throughout the day and shared onto the breeze as the moon rises so that tonight, when his spirit left to join the stars above, he would be accompanied on that long dark walk by the voices of everyone who loved and admired him. Mudclaw himself should have been sitting beside Tallstar’s body, the shell left behind, and giving him his first eulogy of the vigil, as was tradition.

Mudclaw had thought about that speech for moons. It seemed impossible to tell the story of Tallstar’s life, his worth, his wisdom, the agony of losing of him, in any way that would feel _enough_—but Mudclaw intended to try with everything he had. 

Firestar turned his attention to the rest of Windclan.

“Just before Tallstar died,” he said, his voice clear and carrying, “Tallstar made Dustwhisker his deputy.”

Yowls of confusion and disbelief rang through the clan, Mudclaw’s voice among them.

“_What?_”

He glowered at Dustwhisker. Now he was looking for it, he could see how Dustwhisker stood close to Firestar, as if afraid to stand alone. 

Dustwhisker met his gaze, but not with the same confidence as Firestar. “This is as much a shock to me as it is to you,” he said. 

_Traitor_, thought Mudclaw. _You might not have killed our leader but you’ll stand on his warm corpse to make yourself taller, won’t you, Dustwhisker?_

“And I would like you to carry on being Windclan’s deputy,” he said, to Mudclaw’s surprise. “I’ll need your support and experience every pawstep of the way.”

Mudclaw’s fur bristled. 

“You don’t think I _believe_ this, do you?” He bared his fangs. Dustwhisker’s words were repeating themselves in his mind: _I’ll need your experience_. Of course he would, _he _didn’t spend seasons learning how to be a good deputy, let alone a good leader. _Unless_… Mudclaw glanced between Dustwhisker and Firestar. 

Perhaps Dustwhisker hadn’t been taking lessons from _Tall_star. The thought made the fur along his spine stand on end. 

“Thunderclan has involved itself with Windclan a lot in the recent past,” said Mudclaw. “Trying to win us over with favours, when they’re not outright bullying us to agree with every choice they make. I remember _Brokentail_,” he growled, a ragged sound full of loathing. “And now, not a moment after our leader is dead, Firestar tells us that _his friend_ Dustwhisker is to be leader! Did anyone _else_ witness this, or am I just supposed to trust you when you say this convenient change of mind really happened?”

Still standing beside Firestar, Dustwhisker’s ears were flattened against his head, but seemingly more from worry than anger. 

The dark tabby tom from Thunderclan stepped forward. It was Brambleclaw, Mudclaw realised, and his lip curled with distrust, for he was Firestar’s own apprentice and—he’d heard some whisper—soon to be the new Thunderclan deputy. 

“I did,” said Brambleclaw, but not with confidence; he spoke as though it was hard to speak at all. “I was there. I heard Tallstar make Dustwhisker his deputy.”

Mudclaw narrowed his eyes as he stared at Brambleclaw, taking in the unhappy set of his ears and the unease with which he stood. 

“You were there too, were you? _Another_ Thunderclan cat, what a surprise! Apprenticed to Firestar, weren’t you?” He curled his lip even further, feeling his muzzle furrow. “And fathered by Tigerclaw?” Brambleclaw looked startled, torn between horror and anger. “I’m sure you can understand why I don’t trust a word of what _you_ say, Brambleclaw.”

“How dare you doubt my word, or my warrior’s?” Firestar hissed, long ginger fur bristling in the sunlight. Mudclaw felt a thrill of furious pleasure knowing he had unnerved the smug Thunderclan leader enough to make him lose composure. “Tallstar’s decision was made in the sight of Starclan.”

_How dare _you _come here and interrupt our grief with your greed_, Mudclaw wanted to roar but instead snapped back, “But not his _clan_? Two strangers and—” he cast a quick, unkind glance at Dustwhisker “—someone I wouldn’t trust to lead a prayer, let alone these cats.” His tail lashed, gesturing at the gathered cats of Windclan. Some of them, he could see from the corner of his eye, were nodding in cautious agreement. 

“His decision was clear enough,” Firestar spat back. Mudclaw sneered at him.

He turned to address the cats who mattered: his clanmates. 

“Are you going to accept this? Do we let Thunderclan choose our leader for us?” 

Several cats growled, tails bristled and lashing. 

“No!” said Webfoot, and other voices joined him.

Mudclaw glared back at Dustwhisker. “Do you think Windclan warriors are going to follow _you_, traitor? You defile Tallstar speaking lies about him on the day of his death.”

_And I will make you suffer for it_, Mudclaw promised.

A new voice spoke from the gathered cats and a skinny black shape padded into view. 

“I will follow Dustwhisker,” said Crowfeather. “I know Brambleclaw and he does not lie. If he says that Tallstar made Dustwhisker deputy before he went to hunt with Starclan, then I believe him.”

Mudclaw flicked his ears, for the first time truly concerned for Windclan. Crowfeather, like Webfoot, was once his apprentice but, unlike Webfoot, he had always been a little difficult, a little distant, and when he came back from his journey, he was… _different_. For one thing, he was far too inclined to fondness of cats in other clans; there had been all that trouble with that Riverclan molly… 

It was too easy to imagine young Crowfeather’s trust being misplaced, his loyalty in question, his judgement clouded. 

“Duststar, I greet you as the leader of my clan,” said Crowfeather. 

Some other cats, bolstered by Crowfeather’s show of confidence, shouted Dustwhisker’s unearned name: _Duststar_. 

But many more, to Mudclaw’s ear, sounded uncertain, or openly defiant. Mudclaw gritted his teeth. This wasn’t over yet. 

“Thank you.” Dustwhisker inclined his head to acknowledge Crowfeather. “But don’t call me Duststar yet,” he said, a pleading note in his voice. “I haven’t yet received my name from Starclan.”

“And you never will!” Mudclaw leaped forward, snarling. “You are not our leader! I won’t let you take over this clan. You filthy coward, running to Thunderclan to get power you don’t deserve. Or did he whisper in your ear, tell you if you promise to betray everything that makes us Windclan, you can rule alongside him—or close enough? You’re a fool, Dustwhisker, and a traitor.” He could see Dustwhisker bristling, his hackles rising. If he could be goaded down from the stump he was standing on, Mudclaw could end this right here and now. 

_I’ll kill you_, he thought, prowling closer, making himself an inviting target. _Just come here_.

He raised his voice again. “Come down here, coward, and fight me if you dare. You want to prove you have it in you to be Windclan’s leader? Come fight_ me_.”

Dustwhisker crouched, about to leap down. Mudclaw’s muscles, warm and ready, twitched as he prepared to bowl him aside; he would tear apart his soft stomach with his hind claws before Dustwhisker could find his feet, he would rip out his throat and stop him saying lies before the false leader could realise what a terrible mistake he’d made. 

Firestar nudged Dustwhisker, who hesitated.

_No_, screamed Mudclaw. His claws sank into the earth.

“No!” said Elmface, the medicine cat, bounding over to Mudclaw. “Stop! Sheath your claws, Mudclaw. Windclan has never chosen leaders by fighting and we’re not starting today! Tallstar’s spirit is still among us, watching this happen. We should be sitting a vigil for him, not bickering over who will take his place.”

_Bickering_, thought Mudclaw darkly. What a simple word for the unforgivable crime being done.

Then Elmface said, “You disgrace him by behaving like this.” The words were more painful than a claw-strike to the eyes. “He always expected the best from his senior warriors.” 

Mudclaw sat down. 

“I believe what the Thunderclan cats tell us,” said the medicine cat, after a long glance at Dustwhisker and Firestar on the stump. “This was Tallstar’s choice and you must accept it, as we all must.”

Mudclaw forced his fur to lie flat but knew he couldn’t keep the hatred from his eyes as he looked at Dustwhisker. 

“I won’t serve as your deputy,” said Mudclaw, finally. _I am always his_. 

Dustwhisker nodded. “Very well.” Already he seemed to be trying to imitate Firestar’s expressionlessness. “I’m sorry if that’s your decision.”

Mudclaw spat softly. He watched intently as Firestar whispered into Dustwhisker’s ear. Then Dustwhisker raised his voice and said, in a poor copy of Tallstar’s grandeur, “I say these words before the spirit of Tallstar, and the spirits of all Starclan, that they may hear and approve my choice. Ashfoot will be the new deputy of Windclan.”

Around him, Windclan cats praised Ashfoot, as was the custom, and Mudclaw didn’t hold her in contempt: she was placid and reliable, a safe choice for deputy for any new leader. That she was also Crowfeather’s mother… well, that wasn’t her fault. But it did little to ease the anger and worry twisting through Mudclaw’s veins. 

Cats had begun to disperse, no longer clustered together around the stump but trotting over to congratulate Dustwhisker and Ashfoot or muttering in small groups, some looking mutinous, others simply confused. Mudclaw didn’t care to do either: he had seen the elders gather at the edge of the commotion and pad their unobtrusive way towards Tallstar’s den, followed by Elmface. He watched as they moved his body from the den with coordinated little nudges and pulls and cleared the leaflitter around his body before beginning to tidy his fur, now scuffed by the ground. 

Soon, the day-long vigil would begin, lasting all the way until moon-high, and then on towards dawn for some. 

Mudclaw, as yet uninvited to participate, sat nearby, watching their careful, thorough kindness towards the still body of Tallstar. It made his heart ache in such a profound way he almost wished his heart would stop too, so he didn’t have to feel it anymore. 

_That’s not what he would want. He would want you to take care of the clan. That is your duty_, he said to himself and then faltered. He was in fact no longer the deputy of Windclan and it was now dawning on him what that truly meant.

Across the campsite, Dustwhisker was speaking with Firestar and Brambleclaw, surrounded by the more easily deceived of Windclan. Mudclaw stared at the traitor with all the venom his heart could conjure, wishing it was enough to poison him from a distance. He watched him pad over to Tallstar, watched Elmface and the elders make room for him to sit down by the body, watched Ashfoot and Crowfeather be invited to sit beside him. 

Soon, the clan would be called to attention and Dustwhisker, undeserving of the honour, would speak Tallstar’s first eulogy. To Mudclaw’s immense disgust, no-one had turned away Firestar from seeing Tallstar’s body, and he now approached Dustwhisker, as though he had any right to be there, grieving alongside the cats who actually knew and adored him. 

Windclan cats collected around the still form of Tallstar as Elmface said perfunctory rites: _we sit here to listen to the life of Tallstar, we bear witness to his story, we are here to celebrate the time we had with this great leader_, _we are here to mourn his passing_.

Dustwhisker awkwardly cleared his throat and said, “I had not expected to be the first to talk of the greatness of Tallstar, but I will do my best. Where to begin...”

Mudclaw was unable to sit by Tallstar while Dustwhisker spoke; there were too many other cats in the way, and no-one seemed to want to let Mudclaw too near to Dustwhisker, which was wise of them, because Mudclaw’s longing to tear at him only grew with every moment he offered pleasant but bland and meaningless comments on Tallstar’s life. He did not speak as a deputy suddenly orphaned by his mentor, nor did he speak as someone who had spent a lifetime basking in the warmth and glory of the sun only to find one morning that same sun suddenly shattered on the earth like an egg, nothing more than thin water and fragile shell. 

He was polite, but that was all. 

It was nearly sun-high by the time Mudclaw had his chance to speak and by then most cats had spread out through the campsite, lounging in twos and threes, half-asleep or numb with grief. Their ears turned towards him, though, when he sat beside the body. 

He had spent moons thinking of what to say, but now it felt wrong to say it. Any of it. He searched for the right words and came up with nothing at all. There was no way to describe a feeling so enormous and so awful with words. It was a pain beyond all poetry.

“He was a great leader,” said Mudclaw, staring down at the black-and-white fur, wishing—not for the first time that day—that it would move, that his flank would rise and fall with a breath, “and I will miss him.”

_Every dawn_, he thought. _I will miss him every day, and every night, but I will miss him most at dawn_. 

From somewhere nearby, he heard someone whisper, “See? Bitter.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _we sat and made a list_   
_of all the things that we have..._   


Mudclaw pulled himself onto the bank, slinking low into the shadow of a nearby gorse before he’d risk shaking the lakewater from his fur. The cold of it panged in his bones, but shaking it off was only a temporary solution: the heavy rain would only soak him more once he left the shelter of the bush. In the leaf-bare air, his panting breaths rose in clouds, and he had never been more glad for the stubbornness of the plant that bloomed while everything else wilted. Giving his heart time to slow its overworked beats, he thought of Tallstar, his eyes golden as the flowers. 

_Aren’t they marvellous?_ he had said last leaf-bare, as they wandered over the snow on the heath. It felt like a lifetime ago to Mudclaw. _So little can flourish at this time, and yet, here they are. Despite everything, alive and thriving. And more beautiful for it, for there is nothing else that compares to them! The moor is theirs and theirs alone, harsh and unforgiving as it is. _

He had trotted along, tail high, radiating a glorious pride in the place that he loved. Mudclaw trailed along behind, watching Tallstar watch the moor. His paw pads were numb with cold but he hadn’t noticed: he was warm from his tail tip to his ears, so warm he felt he might melt the snow.

_A lot like us, then_, he had said to Tallstar. _Windclan_ _belongs here_. _Even though we suffer for it._

Tallstar had stopped at that, looking back at him with a solemn set to his ears. _The suffering isn’t beautiful, _he’d said. 

_No, _agreed Mudclaw, _but the surviving is_. 

Mudclaw could remember how Tallstar’s eyes softened, how the first light of day made the amber of them sparkle like honey and ice all at once. _Yes_, he’d replied. _Yes, I think the great strength of Windclan is hope. Even in the worst of circumstances, _he glanced around at the shimmering heath, _we believe things _can_ get better_. _So we find ways of holding on_. _In the worst of times, our best quality shows most brightly. Just like the gorse_. 

Mudclaw had made a rumbling chuff, eyes narrowed in happiness. Tallstar quirked his head to the side, politely surprised, his ears pricked in curiosity. 

_You disagree?_ he’d asked.

_No_, said Mudclaw. _Not at all. But I’m not a poet, Tallstar_. _That was lovely, what you said_, he’d said earnestly, _but I’m a simple warrior, you see. When I looked at the gorse, it made _me_ think that Windclan’s greatest strength is being too damned hard to kill. _

Tallstar had purred loudly at that and Mudclaw had walked by his side the whole way home, delighted and partly in a dream. But he remembered most clearly what had been said next. 

_Yes, of course_, Tallstar had said, his tone wry. _A cat could be forgiven for suggesting I get lost in my own fancy from time to time. I have always been a bit of a dreamer. I knew I’d need a grounded deputy—and you’re right, Mudclaw._ _Sometimes a simple solution is best. Sometimes, _he’d said, eyes glittering with a little mischief, _the answer to ‘how do we go on?’ is: the usual way. One paw in front of the other. _

_The best way to live_, said Mudclaw, tail waving high as they walked, _is to not die?_

_Exactly_, said Tallstar, with a twitch of his whiskers. _I would say it’s an almost inarguable truth. But since none of us can live here forever, the next best is to live in hope of a better future and be damned hard to kill until you get it._

Mudclaw in the present shivered as the cold seeped into his skin through his damp fur. As much as he didn’t want to leap out into the rain again, it was the best chance he had of returning to Windclan camp unnoticed, so he took one last moment of respite under the gorse before leaving. He sprinted along the lakeside towards the broken half-bridge, forcing himself not to stop until he reached it and could crouch, catching his breath, in some of the reeds overgrowing the bank. Then, certain of no-one watching, he dashed up to seek cover under a thick cluster of twiggy heather at the foot of the Windclan hills. 

He waited there for some time, staring out into the gloom of the rainstorm over the braes while rain dripped down upon him. 

Eventually, a flash of white caught his eye. Mudclaw padded out from under the heather and dashed towards the murky pale smear, catching up with Webfoot and following him to an abandoned hare’s scrape over the other side of the hill. Together, they hunkered down in the form, grateful the hare had been a large one and had the sense to dig it out under an overhang of bramble. Even still, the two warriors had to lie pressed flank to flank to keep from getting further drenched; it was not a comfortable meeting place, but it was the only place secret enough to prevent being overheard. 

“Riverclan will run with us,” said Mudclaw first, once he had caught his breath properly. “Hawkfrost has promised himself and a number of other Riverclan warriors, and he has gotten word from Shadowclan that there are several more warriors there who will join us as well. When the time comes, Hawkfrost will gather the Shadowclan warriors and they will come together through Riverclan’s territory along the lake.” 

“Will it be enough, do you think?” asked Webfoot. 

Mudclaw nodded. “Shadowclan and Riverclan understand that their part is just to preoccupy and distract. The actual fighting will be minimal. All I need is to get to Dustwhisker.”

“Our warriors are going to defend,” said Webfoot, sounding concerned. 

“Of course they are.” Mudclaw was proud of that. He _expected_ Windclan warriors to want to fight and would have been disheartened if they behaved like cowards simply because their stand-in leader was one. “But I want to end this quickly. The less blood shed, the better. Shadowclan and Riverclan feel the same way.”

Webfoot seemed relieved by this news. “That’s good. And in return, what do they want?”

“Shadowclan isn’t asking for anything,” said Mudclaw. “According to Hawkfrost, some feel that they owe us for Brokentail _and_ Tigerclaw and want to see a rightful leader in Windclan. Others said they don’t like Thunderclan so close to their border and don’t trust Firestar’s power spreading so completely over two clans. Again, Tigerclaw left deep claw-marks on them. They don’t want to have our clans merge and have to share a border with that.”

“The enemy of my enemy,” said Webfoot, nodding.

“That’s right,” said Mudclaw. “They’re not allying with us past this battle and they made that clear. They just don’t want Windclan to ally with Thunderclan, and especially not merge.”

“They trust you not to follow in Dustwhisker’s pawsteps, then?” Webfoot was squinting in approval.

“They’ve met me,” said Mudclaw simply, although he felt somewhat smug. “They know I’d rather die than merge with _any_ clan. They trust in that.” 

“And Riverclan?” said Webfoot, and then corrected, “Hawkfrost, I mean?”

“He wanted to be deputy here,” said Mudclaw. Webfoot’s eyes widened. “I said no, of course. But I’ve promised to support him in becoming Riverclan’s deputy, and eventually leader. If he needs warriors sometime in the future, I said Windclan would stand with him.”

Webfoot flicked his ears. “How will that look? Windclan supporting an unchosen deputy?”

“He might get chosen in the future,” said Mudclaw. He understood the question: _does that make us like Thunderclan?_ “All I said was that I saw him as a worthy deputy and possibly leader of Riverclan, and would support his rise to that. It’s up to him if and how it happens. And he already has the support of many Riverclan warriors. He’s not like Dustwhisker.” 

_I wouldn’t care if he was, _thought Mudclaw, a little viciously. _The difference is, I’m allying with Riverclan for Windclan’s sake. Dustwhisker allied with Thunderclan for his own._

“And you trust him?” asked Webfoot, a little tentative. 

“Enough,” said Mudclaw. “I trust him enough when he says he wants me as Windclan leader, and not Firestar’s friend. And I trust that _he_ has ambitions. Besides, what I care about is getting Windclan back to strength as soon as possible and he’s agreed to help with that, so that’s good enough for me. I’ll deal with the future when we get there.”

_In the future, he might become a threat_, thought Mudclaw, although he could see no point in worrying Webfoot or his other supporters with that news. _But Dustwhisker is a threat _now. 

“I hope Shadowclan and Riverclan don’t get too close through all this,” said Webfoot, half to himself.

“If they do, that’s Thunderclan’s problem more than ours,” said Mudclaw. 

He had already considered the possibility of a united Riverclan and Shadowclan, but it didn’t seem like a credible threat to him. Shadowclan didn’t benefit anything from enmity with Windclan anymore, being too far away to share a border—but they would _both_ benefit from a peaceable neutrality or perhaps even a gentle alliance regarding the other, given that Shadowclan and Windclan were now pinned between Riverclan and Thunderclan. If either Riverclan or Thunderclan got too strong, Shadowclan and Windclan would be equal targets and so, no matter how much Mudclaw hated Shadowclan for what they had done in the past, he could see sense in hating Thunderclan and Riverclan _more_.

“Anyway, that’s not something to think about now,” said Mudclaw. “Are the warriors ready?”

“Yes,” said Webfoot. “But I think it had better happen soon?” He said it like a question, but Mudclaw could tell he wanted to say it as a suggestion. “Everyone’s getting a little agitated. I don’t know how long before someone starts a fight and Ashfoot catches on. She’s noticed everyone’s a little off, but she thinks it’s just the weather.”

Mudclaw nodded. “It’ll be soon. Three days from now.”

“Oh, good,” said Webfoot, cheering up. Then his expression darkened again. “But the rain? Will it have passed by then?”

“I hope not,” replied Mudclaw, noticing the surprise in Webfoot’s twitching ears. “_Think_ about it, Webfoot. Riverclan and Shadowclan are far more used to fighting and running in the wet than we are. Windclan’s going to be at a disadvantage, which means _we’ll _only be as good as our clanmates but our back-up will be _better_. And I only have to be better than Dustwhisker.” 

He had thought about the fight a lot in the past moon. He wanted to hunt down the traitor and batter him with his paws, taunt him and berate him between strikes, let him think he’d escaped only to chase him down and shred at him again. He wanted to make sure it was slow and painful and undignified, make him crawl through the mud stinking of terror and begging for mercy. He wanted to make Dustwhisker sorry for choosing his ambition over his clan, his leader, his friendship with Mudclaw, his respectability as a warrior of Windclan. 

But Mudclaw knew that was selfish. He knew killing Dustwhisker like that was serving his own hunger for vengeance, not the needs of Windclan. And as much as he wanted to tell himself it was for Tallstar, he knew that would be a lie: Tallstar believed in mercy. Mudclaw couldn’t banish Dustwhisker and let him run away, because he’d run right to Thunderclan, but he could make sure he died quickly. He would have the kind of death that Tallstar didn’t get to, and that would have to be enough for mercy. It had taken a lot of struggle to decide on this matter, but Mudclaw knew it to be the right choice, as much as he wished it otherwise. Elmface’s words echoed in his head often these days: _Tallstar always expected the best from his senior warriors_. He had to live up to that. The battle for Windclan’s future would be fast and decisive. 

“Go back to camp now,” said Mudclaw to Webfoot. “I’ll follow in a bit.” Webfoot nodded and stood up. “Make sure you lose my scent in the rain.”

“Easy,” said Webfoot, bumping his nose to Mudclaw’s, just like they used to. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He streaked away up the slope and out of sight, leaving Mudclaw curled up in the scrape.

Mudclaw listened to the rain, wondering if there was any point hunting before returning to camp. Any sensible creature would be hidden away in this weather, except perhaps the ducks down by the lake, but Mudclaw had a realistic idea of how well he could catch one of those. Even with his new experiences swimming to the island, he wasn’t anywhere near nimble enough in the mud and water to sneak up on a duck. 

He was proud, though. It had been hard the first time he’d waded into the water of the lake; the cold had cut through his fur and skin like a bite. It had felt wrong to paddle out into the deeps where he couldn’t feel anything but water: no ground below his paws, nothing to cling to or climb if he started to drown. But he’d done it. 

He’d thought of Tallstar the entire time, using the thoughts like a queen uses her twitching tail tip to lure a kitten along. 

_I told you_, he’d thought, gasping for air as his legs kicked furiously underneath him. _We’re strong enough to change. Look at me! A Windclan cat _swimming_. I can hardly believe it and I’m _doing_ it! Just one paw in front of the other._

He’d swum back the way he came after that first meeting with Hawkfrost, his muscles aching and cramping in the coldwater, but with a new glorious heat inside keeping him going all the way to the bank. He’d crawled up under the gorse then too, shaking so hard he was nearly seeing double, but the contentment in his heart burned bright and warm as greenleaf. 

_You were right_, he’d thought, flopped there on his side. _The world is changing and _I’m_ changing with it. And I’m not afraid. _

Mudclaw stood up in the hare’s scrape and stretched. His supporters would be waiting at camp, the news of the upcoming battle slowly, carefully, filtering through to those who needed to be ready for it. 

He wasn’t sure what would happen after the battle was over. Riverclan and Shadowclan would leave once Dustwhisker was dead, leaving Mudclaw to address Windclan as their rightful leader. Ashfoot was the current deputy and Mudclaw was willing to let her keep the role, having known the pain of losing it for himself and besides, she wasn’t an undeserving cat. Crowfeather would, hopefully, see sense and remember his loyalty, first to his clan and secondly to his mentor. And the rest of the clan would fall into agreement, encouraged by Mudclaw’s believers and this time without the interfering and lies of Thunderclan to lead them astray. 

He chose to hope for the best. Whatever happened, it was better to risk everything he had than let the great wrongness of it all continue unchallenged. 

_Things have been difficult before_, Mudclaw reminded himself, _and things will be difficult again. But Windclan always survives. I won’t let it be any other way._

He leaped out into the chilling rain once more and raced towards home. 

* * *

There were no stars watching Windclan tonight. The thick rain clouds covered the sky, growling a low, constant threat of lightning. 

Mudclaw lay in the shadow of a wild lavender bush some way out of camp, scanning the darkness for a sign. He had sent Webfoot further down the moor to keep watch, so they had warning before the other clans arrived. The rest of Mudclaw’s supporters were waiting at the campsite, along with their clanmates: the weather had been too fierce to send out any hunters and there was no patrol leaving until dawn. 

A blur of white fur dashed along the slope.

Mudclaw stood up to greet him, touching muzzles.

“They’re coming,” said Webfoot, out of breath. “I saw them down by the lake.”

Mudclaw nodded and flicked his tail, sending Webfoot to spread the news quietly around the campsite. He prowled down the slope all the way towards the centre of camp, ears straining for the first sound of the approaching warriors. Webfoot was fast: when in full flight over the moor, sometimes he looked as if his paws never touched the ground at all. That meant they had a few moments more before even the quickest of the other warriors from the other clans would reach them.

He glanced around for Dustwhisker.

“Mudclaw,” said Ashfoot. “Can I have a word with you, please?”

He turned to see her padding over to him. Ears all around the campsite swivelled in their direction.

He forced his fur to lie flat. “Of course, Ashfoot. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” she said, “or at least I hope so. That’s what I wanted to ask you.” She gestured for him to walk with her a little away from listening ears and Mudclaw complied. “I know things have been hard for you.”

Mudclaw hoped she would interpret his silence sympathetically. 

“I understand if you’re not ready to be friendly again yet,” she continued. “Especially with me.”

“Windclan must have a deputy,” said Mudclaw. “In your brother’s place, I would have made the same decision.”

Ashfoot’s ears twitched, as if she wanted to flatten them in discomfort but stopped herself. “Yes,” she said. “And thank you. From someone with so many seasons of experience, that means a lot to me. But I’m not here for compliments. I’ve noticed you’ve had a lot of time alone recently and I wanted to ask if there’s anything—”

A screech cut through the night. 

Mudclaw shouldered past Ashfoot and bounded to the middle of the campsite before yowling, “Tallstar’s loyalest! It’s time!”

Clanmates sprang to their paws and raced to his side, just as new bodies streamed down the hill: Shadowclan and Riverclan, bringing with them the scent of reed and pine. 

There was no calling for attack, no proclamations of battle. Just the meaty thuds of rain-soaked bodies colliding and the unholy furious frightened screams of fighting cats.

The wind wailed around Mudclaw, rain lashing the earth and hitting his ears with stinging precision. He couldn’t smell anything in the storm but wet soil and the rank scent of damp fur on strange cats.

“Here!” The sharp cry came from Webfoot, further along the moor. 

Rage took him over and he raced across the campsite, dodging bodies as they collided.

He crashed through a tuft of purple moor-grass into the hollow where Dustwhisker and Webfoot were ripping great chunks of fur from one other. They broke apart as Mudclaw struck.

Webfoot leaped aside, bleeding from a deep shoulder wound. Mud and blood streaked his white pelt. “I held him for you!”

Mudclaw felt a surge of pride for his apprentice, then struck at Dustwhisker again. Dustwhisker slithered enough to avoid the crushing bite; he wailed but caught Mudclaw’s jaw with a hind foot, kicking viciously enough to send him reeling back. 

“It’s over, Dustwhisker,” said Mudclaw over the rain. “I won’t let you lead Windclan.”

“I never wanted to,” hissed Dustwhisker. 

“Liar!”

“Why would I lie?”

They circled each other, spine fur bristling. 

“If you don’t want it, then _step down_,” said Mudclaw. “I won’t have to kill you.”

_I’ll show you mercy_, he thought. 

“I won’t deny Tallstar his dying wish,” Dustwhisker spat back. “I respect him too much. As _you_ should.”

Mudclaw leaped, but Dustwhisker was ready; the two of them clashed together, claws and teeth sinking into flesh and _tearing_. It hurt like sun-bright bramble thorns but Mudclaw hardly noticed: his anger muted everything that wasn’t the roar of blood in his ears, the taste of it in his mouth. 

“I respect him more than _anyone_,” he snarled into Dustwhisker’s ear, kicking at his soft belly.

“Maybe,” rasped Dustwhisker, breaking free with a twist before splashing murky water into Mudclaw’s eyes. “But I was there when he died, Mudclaw. I know the truth of his last words.” 

Mudclaw hissed, shaking his head. 

“Either you’re not meant to lead Windclan,” Dustwhisker pressed on, relentless, “or Tallstar was _wrong_.”

“You’re lying!”

Dustwhisker crashed down upon him. 

“Mudclaw!” Webfoot pounced at Dustwhisker. High above, the sky was fractured by jagged streaks of white. 

In the sudden harsh light, Mudclaw saw the shadows of yet more cats leaping down into the hollow with them. Even the heavy rain couldn’t hide the colour of their leader’s pelt.

Mudclaw swung around, raking his claws at Firestar.

“Do you still think this is your clan?” he growled at the Thunderclan leader. “_Get out_.”

“You’re a traitor,” said Firestar. “This isn’t your clan anymore either.”

Mudclaw threw himself at Firestar, snarling in wordless fury. They went down together and only broke apart when another Thunderclan cat sent Webfoot screaming off into the night. 

There were too many of them, Mudclaw realised. He could hear the wails of fleeing Shadowclan cats, and the rallying of Riverclan on the far slope behind Hawkfrost, and above all his ears picked out the sounds of his clan, fearful and in disarray. 

_It wasn’t meant to be like this_. 

Mudclaw bounded away from the hollow, back through the long grass and towards the last shouts of Riverclan. They were backing away from Windclan campsite, faced down by what seemed like the entirety of Thunderclan. 

Mudclaw crept around the outside of the camp and loped up to the hill where Hawkfrost stared coldly down at the gathered warriors.

“Retreat,” commanded Mudclaw. 

“You’re giving up?” he asked. 

“Change of plans,” said Mudclaw. “We have to go.”

Hawkfrost yowled for Riverclan as another branch of lightning split the sky into pieces. 

Mudclaw looked down the hill at Windclan, illuminated in the eerie paleness. 

As if the world was stopped, he saw the shapes of screeching cats, mud-slicked and blood-stained, frozen in battle. He saw Thunderclan warriors where they didn’t belong; he saw Riverclan warriors where they shouldn’t be. He saw Windclan cats fighting _each other_, which was most wrong of all. All of this, on a moor that would _become_ Windclan’s home, once enough generations had bled on it. In that brief moment, Mudclaw wondered why. He’d never done that before.

_Because we have nothing else_, he thought as the darkness returned. 

“Come on!” he shouted to Riverclan, before tearing down the other side of the hill. He could sense Hawkfrost and his warriors some lengths behind and felt, unexpectedly, a burst of joy: even in the rain, he was faster than them. He felt like the wind itself carried him down the slope to the lakeshore, and as he ran along the open grassland that lined the bank, he tried to think of what to do.

He could not return to Windclan. Firestar and Dustwhisker would call him a traitor and kill him for it if he crossed the border. Shadowclan and Riverclan wouldn’t shelter him either, he knew that: they wouldn’t risk their clan for him, especially not now the attack on Dustwhisker had failed.

He was alone. 

_Tallstar_, he thought, his muscles burning with the effort of running, _I don’t know where I’m going but_ _I’m trying not to be afraid_.

He sprinted further along, reaching the peaty marshland, thick with reeds. He leaped into the black mud, forcing his body to struggle onward. 

Over the growing agony of cramping limbs and the stinging of open wounds, Mudclaw heard Dustwhisker’s voice spitting in his mind: _Tallstar was wrong_. It hurt like a bite to his heart. It felt like something so painful, so awful, could not be true. 

It had to be a lie, because otherwise Tallstar was… ordinary. Not the all-knowing wind in the poem Mudclaw loved so much, but just another fern, weak and uncertain, moved about by the great randomness of living in the world. Just like him. 

A battle cry rang out nearby and a weight crashed down upon Mudclaw. His nose filled with the scent of Thunderclan and, for a moment, he thought Firestar had found him. He wrestled free, twisted around, and struck, knocking the cat further into the mud.

But it wasn’t Firestar. It was Brambleclaw. 

“Traitor!” he gasped, trying to kick.

“Go home!” snarled Mudclaw. He had known Thunderclan cats tended towards a self-righteous streak, but he hadn’t expected anyone to chase him down once he fled. “This isn’t about you.”

Mudclaw drew back, fangs bared, ready to give Brambleclaw a bite to send him squealing off back to his precious forest when a heavy cuff caught the side of his head and sent him sprawling.

Hawkfrost pounced on him and together they grappled among the reeds, but Hawkfrost had the advantage in the marsh and pinned him. His wide paw pressed on Mudclaw’s throat and Mudclaw lay in the mud, sucking breath in through bared teeth. 

Hawkfrost looked to Brambleclaw and said something, but Mudclaw didn’t catch it. Above, he had noticed a brief glint of starlight, peering through the heavy clouds. 

_Tallstar_, he thought, becoming light-headed, _I did everything I could to make you proud of me_. _I tried to be the deputy you needed._

He thought: _I don’t know why I wasn’t enough_. _I don’t know why you didn’t tell me before you died_. _I would have believed you, if you told me._ _I would have followed you! I trusted you! I would have changed if you’d asked me to. Why didn’t you tell me who you wanted me to be?_

He thought: _Did you think of me at all?_

Hawkfrost was still speaking. “He promised to leave Riverclan in peace if we helped him drive out Dustwhisker.”

“Liar,” wheezed Mudclaw. “You came to _me_ to ask for power. You’ll side with whoever will give it to you.”

Summoning all his energy, Mudclaw heaved himself up, throwing Hawkfrost back into a clump of reeds with a splash. Brambleclaw crouched, ready to spring at him, so he veered to one side and bounded out of reach. He ran through the marsh, already panting with the effort. He could hear the splashes of the others behind him. 

Ahead, he could see the island in the lake; the black water shifting roughly in the wind. 

Mudclaw leaped, sinking underwater. It was blacker than night in the lake, for there was no moon, no stars, no clouds, no light down there at all. And it was colder than he remembered, so cold it made his whiskers ache. His legs kicked on their own, forcing him to the surface. His head was ringing with the sound of the splash, dizzy with the chill and the lack of air and the exhaustion. 

_Tallstar_, he prayed, as he had every time he’d swam to the island. _I was your deputy for so long, I don’t know how to be anything else._ _Maybe that’s my fault._

_But it was never meant to be like this_, he thought. _Were you thinking of our clan’s future when you chose him instead, or were you dreaming again? You must have known it would break my heart. You must have known it would break our clan. But you did it anyway. You took a chance with your last breaths. _

_You were wrong, _thought Mudclaw.

Then: _but I understand. It’s who you are_. _Not perfect, but hopeful_.

The thunder growled above and the wind moaned, low and grieving. And somewhere in the sound, he thought, faintly, he heard a voice calling him onward. 

He kept going.

He scrambled up the stones of the island’s bank, hearing the splashes of Hawkfrost somewhere behind but not caring. He staggered forward. 

As he glanced up at the dark clouds above, he realised the stars were gone. 

_When I was a young cat_, _playing in the evening_, Tallstar had said long ago, looking up at the overcast before-dawn sky, _we used to be warned: do what you’re told, because Starclan’s eyes are on you. They meant the stars, shining down. When I got older, I eventually asked the elders if that meant Starclan could only see us at night. _

Mudclaw and Tallstar had settled together in a thicket, unwilling to go too far out of camp on their walk. There seemed to be rain on the way. Gentle rumbles of thunder echoed over the heathland.

_What did they say?_ Mudclaw replied. A warm, slightly electric breeze made the stalks of heather and lavender tremble around them.

Mudclaw had looked to Tallstar then, admiring the sharp lines of his jaw as he sat so still and thoughtful among the flowers. Mudclaw knew, like all Windclan cats, that Starclan slept throughout the day, basking on the other side of the sun—but he loved to hear any story from his leader.

_They said, it doesn’t matter, _replied Tallstar. _Whether or not Starclan watches you in your best moments—or your worst moments—is not what’s most important, they told me. _

Mudclaw quirked his head at that, ears perked. _What is, then?_

Tallstar looked at him. _I asked the same thing!_ he said with a purr. _They told me: in your life, practice mercy. When you make a mistake, forgive yourself. When your clanmates make a mistake, try to forgive them. That’s what matters most of all._

Mudclaw flicked his tail in confusion. 

_I know, _said Tallstar, humour in his voice. _I thought, what is that supposed to mean?_ _If Starclan’s not watching me, deciding if I’m good or bad, then why do we pray to Starclan at all? If their wisdom isn’t total, then what _can_ we trust?_

Mudclaw silently agreed.

Tallstar became serious again._ But then the elders said to me: practice mercy, Talltail, because one day you will be a part of Starclan and your descendants will look to _you_. _

He glanced from Mudclaw to the storm clouds above the moor, listening to their growling song grow louder.

_You will only see a little bit of who they are and the lives they’ve lived_, quoted Tallstar, as grey clouds swirled overhead, _so remember every cat is more than one moment_ _of greatness, more than one mistake. We all decide each other’s fates eventually, so choose mercy, Talltail. And one day someone may be merciful to you. _

Cold water dripped from Mudclaw’s fur as he padded unsteadily forward towards the shelter of the island’s few trees.

“Tallstar,” he croaked. “I forgive you, and I’m sorry.”

Lightning cut through the storm-black sky; an enormous spiderweb of violent white, the white of bones, of fangs, of a full season of snow. 

There was light, and fire, an explosion of bark, a dreadful tearing of wood.

Mudclaw glanced up, and up, and up, the shadow of the burning tree cast over him. It creaked towards him.

_One life to the next_, he thought, briefly. _Nothing to fear_.

The tree fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I read them all one day_   
_when loneliness came and you were away._   
_oh, they told me nothing new, _   
_but I love to read the words you used..._   

> 
> — What We Lost In The Fire, Bastille.


End file.
